


Berlin ist ein Dorf

by SmartPeach3



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8284405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmartPeach3/pseuds/SmartPeach3
Summary: A happy ending for Cylin's Stricher and its sequel. You must read those brilliant fics first for this to make sense!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cylin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cylin/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Stricher](https://archiveofourown.org/works/315191) by [Cylin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cylin/pseuds/Cylin). 



> I asked Cylin's permission to publish an ending for the sequel to her fic Stricher. Be sure to read Stricher and its incomplete sequel before you read this, or it will make very little sense. Please feel free to help me tag this, and any comments would be appreciated! I especially want to stay true to the tone of Cylin's work and her portrayal of Charles and Erik.

When Erik stepped into Mr. Müller’s office a few days later, the therapist’s quick glance to his lip revealed that the yellowing bruise had not gone unnoticed. 

“Eventful week, Erik?” Mr. Müller asked as Erik took a seat, allowing Erik to explain the lip or feign ignorance, completely at his discretion. Müller never seemed to pry, which was why Erik liked him as a therapist. True professionalism.

Erik hissed through his teeth and began, “Charles…lashed out at me-” He stopped when he saw a flash of concern in Müller’s eyes. “Listen, I wouldn’t call it domestic violence or anything, all right?”

Müller grinned stiffly and replied, “I’m not here to label your social interactions, Erik. I just listen. If you still feel safe with Charles, then I’m going to trust you.”

“It doesn’t seem to matter if I feel safe with him, since he’s been avoiding me for days.”

Müller’s prolonged silence provoked Erik into telling him the entire story. Drinking with Charles. Going back to his flat. Hannes. And then Charles’s unexplained mood swing.

“And how did you interpret Charles’s behavior, Erik?”

Erik was glad that Müller had not resorted to the old therapy stand-by of “How did that make you feel?” and he was sure his gratitude was audible in his response. “It was fucking confusing. First, he’s practically dragging me to bed, and then he just falls apart. And, I could stand all that if he would just talk to me, help me fix it. But, I don’t know if he feels like he can tell me anything, since I’m not ready to hear about Hannes. I should’ve just listened to him. But I can’t stand the thought of them together.”

Müller nodded, carefully planning a response. “You can’t rush yourself through this. The relationship you have with Charles is complicated, and jealously is normal.” He noticed that Erik was fidgeting, crossing and uncrossing his legs, and he continued, “But, I think there is something else you’d like to tell me?”

Erik sighed. “Yes. Charles is just so…thin. I feel odd bringing this up. I know you’re not his therapist. He just doesn’t look healthy anymore. I don’t even know if he understands how thin he has gotten. And he has an alarm on his phone that goes off every now and then, and I think it is reminding him to eat. Which is why it worries me when he just slips the phone back into his pocket and skips the meal anyway.”

Müller studied his face until it made Erik a bit uncomfortable, but he replied, “I haven’t met Charles, so I don’t want to make too many assumptions. But his behavior does sound destructive. I don’t want to diagnose him with an eating disorder just from your description, but this could be the explanation for his ‘lashing out,’ to use your words. Maybe he feels ugly, too heavy or too thin for you to find him attractive, and that made him close himself off from you. But, I think it’s more likely that his behavior is about control. Eating disorders – and I want to reiterate that I cannot diagnose him without meeting him in person– are often catalyzed by an event or series of events that make the individual feel helpless. The individual will turn to food and controlling his or her appetite as a way to feel stable, like they have a strong hold over one aspect of life. I once had a patient who told me that her compulsive purging was her way of ‘Minimizing the chaos’.”

Erik could imagine what that catalyzing event might have been, and he shuddered to think of Charles turning to destructive behavior to cope with feelings of abandonment. Before guilt could swallow him completely, he asked, “How could Charles possibly have an eating disorder?”

Müller smiled sadly. “Men can develop eating disorders, Erik. In spite of the stereotype that women are ‘hysterical,’ men can have many of the same mental illnesses as women.”’

“Except PMS,” Erik responded, and he watched as his usually professional therapist choked back a chuckle at his glib comment.

“Well, Erik, I would tell you to keep an eye on Charles, but I suppose you don’t know if you’ll see him again. Instead, I wish you good luck until our next meeting.”

Erik stood to leave. “You know what the worst thing about that night was?”

“Worse than an ex-boyfriend who thinks you’re abusive, Charles struggling with his weight, and a busted lip? I honestly can’t imagine.”

Erik shifted his weight nervously, looking down. “I wanted it to go further. Physically, I mean. I just wanted Charles so badly. To go from possible blow job to talking about his ex was…difficult.”

Müller wondered if the wetness in Erik’s eyes was a trick of the light, but he stood to shake his hand, wishing him luck once more.

 

As Erik stepped out of the office, his phone rang. The timing was too perfect, like the call was providentially sent. He answered before the second ring. “Charles!?”

“No, Erik. It’s me. Magda.” Erik had recognized the voice immediately, without the clarification. He tried not to let the disappointment bleed through into his voice.  
“Oh. Hello.” His stomach twisted as he remembered some of her last words to him. _Dammit, Erik! Gay?!_ “How are you?”

“I’m fine, I suppose. Actually, that was a lie. God, why am I calling you?” Her voice sounded wrecked and scratchy, and Erik heard the distinct sound of coughing, though she had turned her head away from the phone.

“I’m guessing because you’re desperately ill?”

“Right. I can’t keep anything down. I’m going to the hospital and we can pray to God the kids don’t get sick. Listen, I have no one else to call. My usual sitter just went off to study abroad in Thailand if you can fucking believe that. I can’t watch Pietro and Wanda.” 

Erik’s breath caught in his throat. He was actually being invited back into his children’s lives, even if it was only for a day. If his nerves were worn thin before, this revelation nearly sent him into a panic attack. He fought back tears and was brought back to reality by the sounds of retching on the other end of the line.

“Who is taking you to the hospital?”

“A guy…you don’t know him. Hell, I barely know him. I definitely couldn’t leave the kids with him. We just met a few weeks ago. So, can you watch them? You might need to stay overnight.”

“Of course.” He said, putting as much manufactured confidence as he could behind the words. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He heard a sigh of hesitation from Magda’s end. “Magda, I promise you can trust me with this. I’m a much more honest man than I was three years ago.”

Magda chuckled morosely at his words, then let out a spluttering cough. And Erik took off, nearly sprinting towards the family he once abandoned.

 

Charles was angry. Then again, Charles was always angry. Angry at himself, at Erik, even at Hannes sometimes for no good reason at all. He’d thought he could heal his relationship with Erik through sheer force of will, but, if the few awkward and stilted conversations they’d had and the disastrous night at his flat were any indication, their relationship was irrevocably broken. He had let his fury out that night, concentrated it into attacking Erik. His anger at Erik for leaving and making Charles feel so broken and alone and his anger at himself for rushing his relationship with Erik that night so many months ago poured out of him, but he was not left feeling relieved. He felt guilty. Now, he had attacked the man he had once spent weeks trying to help. He remembered applying the antiseptic ointment to Erik’s scratches and cursed himself for doing more damage to the man’s skin.

The emotions were too much. His phone’s alarm sounded, but he ignored it. He eyed the bunch of bananas on the countertop, but he couldn’t imagine eating with the bile building up in his throat. He had no choice. He had to stop avoiding Erik and apologize. The apology would make him feel better, relieve some of the self-loathing. _What a selfish thought. Do you have an ounce of true altruism in your miserable body, Charles? What happened to the man who gave tea to a freezing prostitute?_

So Charles called.

“Hello?”

“Erik, I think we need to talk.”

“I agree, but I’m a little busy at the moment.” Erik sounded anxious, but in a way that Charles could only describe as excitement.

“Having fun without me?” Charles asked dryly.

Erik’s voice sounded a bit gloomier when he replied, “Charles, I really don’t want to talk about this over the phone. You won’t be happy.”

“So, tell me where I can meet you. If you don’t have time for me now, then I will hang up and never call again.” Charles knew this was not fair, but he had stooped to emotional blackmail before, and it had worked. Why change tactics when one has proved effective? _Why change a good thing?_ Charles thought, wincing.

Erik told him the address. He couldn’t lose Charles now.

 

Charles arrived at the address, shocked by how nice the apartment was. He knocked. The door opened.

“Charles!” Erik looked sheepish, but he could not hide a glint of satisfaction in his eye. _What is that about?_ Charles thought. “Come in.”

Charles did as he was bid, and he stepped into a well-lit family room...with two sleeping children on the sofa. “Erik, who would let you around their children?” He asked, and the joke came out a touch harsher than he intended, that ever-present anger boiling up again.

Erik winced, but he replied calmly, “Those are my kids, Charles. I haven’t seen them in years. They’re twins, Pietro and Wanda. I had them with my ex-wife, Magda, who is currently at the hospital with some stomach flu.”

Charles froze. Suddenly, unexplainable anger boiled up. He felt betrayed, but he couldn’t say why exactly.

“Charles, I was a terrible father. After the divorce three years ago, I cut off all contact with Magda and the kids. When I showed up today to act as babysitter, I didn’t know what to expect. I definitely didn’t expect to play with dolls for a few hours and then tuck the kids in for a nap. But that’s what happened. Pietro didn’t ask a single question. Wanda just said ‘Will you stay for a little while, Papa?’” Erik’s voice broke on the last word, and Charles looked up to see tears streaking his face. Erik must have been crying this whole time.

Charles was moved, but not in the way he expected. A year ago, Professor Charles Xavier of NYU would have hugged the doting father. This Charles Xavier stepped closer to the taller man and snarled. “What kind of man are you? You had a family, and you just walked away? Is that the only thing you know how to do? Run from the people who love you? You abandoned me, Erik!” He reached up to slap Erik’s shocked expression right off his face, but he felt a tiny hand clasp around his little finger and looked down.

A little boy, about six, looked up at him with huge, frightened eyes. Charles dropped his raised hand, embarrassed, and knelt down, ready to apologize. The boy surprised him by speaking first. “Why are you so little?” The boy wrapped his hands around the wrist that Charles knew must look emaciated. _Did he really look so bad, that this child could tell he wasn’t well?_

Finally the sea of anger calmed. Just a bit. Because Charles was good with children. “I could ask you the same thing. Look at your sister.” He gestured to Wanda, who had stood up from the couch as well, nervous. “She must be a head taller than you. You sure you’re twins?”

Pietro smiled, and Charles felt Erik’s hand on his shoulder. Charles stood quickly, but that was a mistake. The room spun, the bile in his throat returning, forcing him into dry heaves. Erik caught him around the shoulders and looked into his eyes as he lowered him to the floor.

“Charles, what did you eat today? What have you eaten in the last three days?” Erik’s voice became shrill. Charles could see his lips move, his eyebrows raised in terror, and slid into unconsciousness.

 

Despite Magda’s best laid plans, the entire Lehnsherr family ended up in the hospital that day. Charles was admitted immediately and given fluids. His room was actually adjacent to Magda’s, so the kids ran back and forth between the two, giggling despite their mother’s discomfort. A nurse shouted to Erik, “Are these your kids? Would you please control them? There are other patients on the hall who need rest!”

Erik was otherwise occupied, his hand firmly holding Charles’s, waiting for the blue eyes to open. They did, after what felt like an eternity but was probably less than half an hour.  
“I’m sorry.” Both men said, at exactly the same time. “You first,” said Erik.

“I actually came to apologize for the other night, when I attacked you and then started talking about my ex-boyfriend. That was…not tactful of me.” Erik snorted. “Let me finish! I was furious that night. I still blamed you for leaving, for making me feel so alone, for forcing me into this –“ He gestured to the IV bag filled with fluids, implying that “this” meant his destructive eating habits.

“Do you still blame me?”

“A bit. I think it will take a while to forgive you completely. But your beautiful son somehow…snapped me out of my anger back at the apartment.”

Erik flushed before he spoke. “That leads me to my apology, Charles. I should have told you about Magda and the kids. But, when I met you I was just a prostitute.” He glanced around to make sure his kids were out of earshot for this, and whispered the last word. “To me, my life history was ancient history.” Charles could have cried at the emotion in Erik’s voice, but he settled for grabbing the man’s hand and falling asleep again, a weight lifted off of his chest.

 

Magda was released later that night, given a medicine for the vomiting, and she took the kids back home. She seemed glad, and a little surprised, to see the twins returned unharmed to her care, and the smile that she gave Erik when she left held promises of future visits, if Erik could keep this “good dad” act up.

Charles was not so lucky, so Erik slept in the uncomfortable chair next to his bed that night, occasionally running a hand through Charles’s silky hair.

Charles awoke to see Erik’s eyes shining at him, and, when their eyes met, both men knew that the worst was behind them. No more awkward conversations, and, as Pietro had nervously asked Erik to tell Charles, “No more hitting!”

Suddenly, Erik pulled out an old, dented thermos. “You know what will make you feel better? Tea!”

“Erik, I didn’t know you could make tea.”

“A kindly old professor taught me,” Erik said, winking mischievously like he did when they first met, but this time with real emotion in his eyes.

“I love you, Erik.” Charles surprised himself when he said it, but Erik only laughed.

“I know. Don’t you know that’s why I left a year ago? I thought, ‘Why on Earth would this perfect man love me?’ And I just ran for it.”

“You’re an idiot, Erik.”

“I love you too, Charles.”

They drank tea and laughed, and a nurse leaned in to tell them to knock it off when she heard low moans and noticed Erik’s hand disappearing into the back of Charles’s hospital gown, closing over a pale thigh.

As Erik’s hands traveled over Charles’s gaunt form, he knew that rebuilding this relationship could not be simple. The tension between them may have eased and the camaraderie returned, but the pain from their past and the injuries they had inflicted on each other had not disappeared. They were still broken men, and healing would take time. Trust would take time. He felt a tightness in his chest that he recognized as anxiety, but the feeling left as quickly as it came, replaced with what was, in his estimation, a brilliant idea.

“You know what I think, Charles?” Erik spoke against Charles’s lips.

“No, darling.”

“You should come to therapy with me. I know an excellent therapist.”

Charles’s laughs echoed down the hall, but both men knew they would never face their problems alone again. Charles’s anger, abandonment, anorexia. Erik’s shame, inadequacy, family responsibility. They were not perfect, and they would be imperfect together.


End file.
